À Théodore de Banville

Sure, I haven't been posting much but that's mostly because I simply don't care. Days are passing. Things are happening. I now have a star of David henna-ed into my back. Please don't ask me why. I could never tell you.

This is a poem that Baudelaire wrote to the poet and writer Théodore de Banville.

To Théodore de Banville
You have grasped the hair of the Goddess
With such a wrist, that one has taken you, seeing
That manner of mastery and that beautiful nonchalance,
For a young ruffian striking his mistress down.

Eye clear and fraught with the fire of precocity,
You have bathed your pride of architecture
In the construction whose accurate audacity
Makes one see what will be your ripeness.

Poet, your blood flees from you by every pore;
Is it by chance that the Centaur’s robe
That changed every vein into a ghastly stream

Was colored three times in the subtle drool
Of these vengeful and monstrous reptiles
Which little Hercules strangled to a cradle?

À Théodore de Banville
Vous avez empoigné les cries de la Déesse
Avec un tel poignet, qu'on vous eût pris, à voir
Et cet air de maîtrise et ce beau nonchaloir,
Pour un jeune ruffian terrassant sa maîtresse.

L'oeil clair et plein du feu de la précocité,
Vous avez prélassé votre orgueil d'architecte
Dans des constructions dont l'audace correcte
Fait voir quelle sera votre maturité.

Poète, notre sang nous fuit par chaque pore;
Est-ce que par hasard la robe du Centaure
Qui changeait toute veine en funèbre ruisseau

Était teinte trois fois dans les baves subtiles
De ces vindicatifs et monstrueux reptiles
Que le petit Hercule étranglait au berceau?